


Breaking Free

by yoshi_in_the_club



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bboy!Yuuri, Breaking, M/M, Slow Burn, Yuuri's unnamed anxiety and self esteem issues, based on the end credits of episode 10, hip-hop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-09-10 19:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8931364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshi_in_the_club/pseuds/yoshi_in_the_club
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki rounds off another skating season without qualifying for the Grand Prix, but he's determined to use the two month period of rest between seasons to perfect his skating and finally skate with Viktor Nikiforov on the international stage. However, he has to take up a part time job teaching breaking to beginners in order to fulfill that dream. Meanwhile, Viktor Nikiforov rounds off a skating season dissatisfied with his unsurprising routine. In order to astonish his audience, he travels to America to learn hip-hop, which he's sure will take his routine to another level. Neither expected to become teachers to the other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When I saw the end credits of episode 10, I was poleaxed not only by stripper!Yuuri but also bboy!Yuuri. I was determined to write something before the first season ended, which I have managed (sort of) (barely), and so this universe was born.
> 
> Yuuri just barely didn't qualify for his first Grand Prix Final, so he elected to stay in Detroit to polish up his skating and totally not avoid his hometown. Still under Celestino, had to take an extra semester for college because of all the traveling he did. He takes up a part time job teaching breaking to help pay for it. Viktor was still dissatisfied with his routine for Stay Close to Me, but instead of switching stuff up by becoming a coach (which he probably didn't even think of until the banquet), he tries to find himself by exploring a completely different image for himself. 
> 
> I'll define breaking terms as they appear, so here are the ones for this chapter.  
> 1\. breaking: commonly referred to as "breakdancing" but that's not really the right name for it. can also be referred to as "bboying."  
> 2\. bboy/bgirl: "breaking boy/girl", term for a boy/girl who breaks  
> (3. toprock (unmentioned): breaking moves that are performed mostly standing and upright, lots of footwork)  
> 4\. downrock: breaking moves that are performed from/on the floor  
> 5\. power moves: classified under downrock, moves that require a combination of breaking skill and acrobatics  
> 6\. wind mills: usually the first power move taught to beginners because it's a foundation for other power moves. It involves spinning in a circle on your back while your legs are in a v-shape in the air  
> 7\. six step: the most basic downrock move. It involves stepping in a circle with most of your weight balanced on your arms
> 
> p.s. this is unbeta'd. please have mercy. also if anyone WANTS to edit this mess hmu

i.

The media praised Viktor for his ability to find the personality of every story he acted out on the ice. “ _Viktor Nikiforov has the talent of a true performer,”_ one had written. “ _Every time he touches the ice, it’s as if he has shed himself and become a different character._ ” Of course, this was the same website that later went on to wonder whether he had run out of new character, new stories. The writer had been _“more surprised by the fact that the persona he had created for his new routine “Stay Close to Me” bore an uncanny resemblance to the same story he had chosen for his performance of “Somewhere in Time” in 2008 than any actual new elements.”_

The criticism grated at him more than it should have, especially since it was almost drowned by a heaping of praise from other sources. After all, why should this small, relatively unnoticeable site matter in the face of larger publications that gushed over his perfect quads and heart wrenching gestures? No matter what it said, Viktor would never reuse a story. Each story was inextricably bound to whatever music he skated it to; he couldn’t even if wanted to.

He remembered his performance of _Somewhere in Time_ vaguely, the years having dulled his memory of the routine. A young man fell in love with a woman he had known all his life, and they developed the perfect relationship to each other. However, as the years went by, the love faded, and he didn’t know why. He searched desperately for the reason while he tried to rekindle their relationship even as his lover drifted further away. In the end, the young couple was able to find a small spark of hope for their relationship after they decided to find new passion instead of keeping the old.

Perhaps the comments had dug their way under his skin because they were partly true. _Stay Close to Me_ …  A tale of a broken-hearted man, lonely and hurt, terrified of reaching out. He couldn’t move on after his last lover left him for another man, and he desperately asked, “Why? What did I do?” He would do anything, change anything, _be_ anything to have her back. It ended as he realized he would always love her, and she would always have a piece of him, but he had to move on.

They were both tales of distance and separation, love lost yet desperately kept. They had different conclusions, but he could see the common elements that the critic had referenced. For someone who prided himself on constantly reinventing himself, it was a rather nasty wakeup call.

Not one to stay idle, he immediately calls his coach.

“Yakov,” he says seriously. “Yakov, this is an emergency.”

“It’s been _six hours_ since you won a gold medal,” Yakov groused from the other end. “What could possibly be wrong with your skating six hours after that?” Ah, he knew Viktor too well.

“You never told me that I was reusing a role!” the skater complained, glaring at the critic’s article.

Yakov suppressed a yawn. “Is this another existential crisis because you didn’t surprise _one_ person? I told you to stay away from those sites.”

“No!” he denied vehemently, still staring at his laptop screen. “I was just… they were right. My character for _Stay Close to Me_ is practically the same as the one I had for _Somewhere in Time_! Even if no one else noticed-“

“-you’ll never be able to let this go.” Viktor could hear Yakov shifting on the other end of the line. He sighed. “Vitya, you’ve never reused a role before. This is a mistake to learn from, not the end of the line.”

“…right. Right! Sorry to bother you so late, Yakov! I know what I can do to fix this!” he chirped.

His coach shouted something, probably telling him not to hang up, but Viktor had already ended the call. He should be used to it by now, honestly. Viktor had hung up on him enough that he should’ve been able to see the pattern.

He let his phone slip through his fingers onto the couch and absently stared at the ceiling. When he first started skating, he had usually expressed positive emotions: joy, love, excitement, the like. Happy emotions fit with his youthful, ethereal appearance. Of course, when people began to expect those types of routines, he began to explore more negative emotions, like desperation, heartbreak, defeat. At this point in time, he had probably created characters for the purest forms of almost every emotion.

Nothing too ugly, of course. People watched him skate so that they could see a beautiful spectacle that tugged at their memories and made them remember times long gone. No one came wanting to see the ugly parts of him that drove people away.

He could make them want that, though.

Viktor had never given the crowds an unhappy ending. He gave them happy endings, open endings, endings that weren’t so much endings as promises of continuation. He had never left them shaking in their seats from anything beyond awe.

Oh, the media could call him monstrous all they wanted, but he had never shown them a monster that hadn’t undergone a spell by the end of the performance.

Well. Perhaps it was a bit _overdue._

ii.

One month later, alone in his studio and panting for breath, Viktor was forced to admit that he. Maybe wasn’t very good at creating monsters.

It had been three days since the end of the season, and instead of celebrating, he had holed himself up in his studio to develop his routine, to no avail. Never let it be said that he didn’t enjoy the challenge of uncharted territory, but this character refused to bloom in a show of obstinacy that blocked him at every turn. Usually, by now, he had a good portion of the routine vaguely sketched out, a story that he just had to figure out how to tell. But nothing felt right this time.

After some deliberation, he had chosen rage for his monster. A man, left behind (cursed? wronged? killed?) by his partner in crime (lover? friend? enemy?), does… something fueled by rage. A hunt for the person? A mindless rampage? Attempts to move on but can’t leave his past behind?

Without the story, his choreography follows the usual pattern for his negative routines. When he tangos, his sharp flicks turn smooth with forgiveness. His impassioned flamenco turns soft with longing. All of the usually styles that he uses for passionate emotions simply do not _work_ for rage. In a fit of desperation, he tries ballet, but there was too much finesse in it for monstrosity.

He grudgingly consulted Yakov a few days ago for advice on the choreography, but his coach was of surprisingly little help.

“Vitya,” he had said, sighing, “I wouldn’t say that what you’re doing is unprecedented, but it’s closer to impossible that I would like. Creating an attractive monster is difficult when you have the words to explain it, let alone when you only have your body. The way you move on ice makes it impossible to create ugliness. “

Stubborn until the end, it took Viktor another four days to know that the way he was dancing would never express what he truly wanted. Even with his vast repertoire of dance styles, none of them seemed to scream _I can create an awful, monstrous being._

In conclusion, he had to learn a new style. Theoretically, it shouldn’t be _too_ difficult. He has learned different styles for performances before, and it’s never taken more than a month to find the elements that he needed for his routine. He went just deep enough to learn those elements perfectly and left fully mastering it for another day.

“But what style, Makkachin?” he murmured into the warm fur of his dog. He just snuggled further into the warmth of his owner, snuffling softly. Viktor petted him absently as he ran over different dance styles.

Ballroom, Latin, and concert dancing were out by elimination. African and modern were out; they were too lively for what he had planned. Which left… hip-hop.

Hip-hop was a naturally aggressive style, even boasting dance battles between dancers as a popular point. He watched a few videos of the style and read a few more articles, but they were mere cursory at best. Viktor knew that hip-hop was the style for this routine.

Excited, he searched for a school near him, but just as the results were loading, an idea popped into his head. Sure, he could learn hip-hop just fine in Russia; there were plenty of acclaimed studios in his country. But wouldn’t it be better to learn it where it was made?

He deleted his previous search, results unseen, and searched for hip-hop schools in America. He wrote down the names of a few promising ones and shut his laptop with a final sounding _click_.

Viktor would tell Yakov in the morning, book his tickets, and be in America by the end of the week to finally get some progress on his routine.

iii.

Yuuri sighed as the last of his class left the studio, finally leaving him alone to turn off the speakers and drag away the mats. He was only teaching breaking to beginners as a part time job, but it was still exhausting. He couldn’t imagine teaching the advanced classes.

“Finally finished with the babies?” Davi said as he entered the room and set his bag down. He was the instructor for the intermediate and advanced classes. Yuuri paused for a moment and let the mat that he had been holding drop onto the floor with a groan.

“That may have been the most emotional class of my life,” he replied. “Today was power move day.”

“Their first power move?”When he nodded, Davi shook his head sympathetically. “Man, that must’ve been brutal. Any of them get it?”

Yuuri sighed and nudged the mats into a neater stack. “Three of the ten class members actually understood it. The other seven won’t remember how to do it after a day and I’ll have to reteach it next time.”He left the stack and crossed over to the other corner of the room, where he picked up his bag.

“Keep your head up, Yuuri,” Davi encouraged, walking closer to slap a hand on his back. “It’s impressive that you taught even three of them to windmill in two hours. I remember that only one or two members of my beginners class got it the first time.”

“I guess,” Yuuri said doubtfully. “Um, I’ve got to go get ready for my evening class. I’ll see you on Friday?”

“Yeah, see you then. Good luck with your classes!”Davi called after him as Yuuri left the building.

“Thanks!” he called back. He pulled a hoodie on over his practice clothes as he walked to a nearby bus stop. He sweated under the sweltering heat of the Detroit summer sun as he waited for his bus. When he stepped on, even the meager breath of its air conditioning felt like heaven.

Even though he took out his phone to try to distract himself, his mind wandered to his poor class that day. He had been teaching them the basics they needed to learn the windmill for over a month, and the children had been so excited to actually put them to work and start developing their downrock. However, they soon learned that the windmill was more difficult than they had expected. He had walked them through it slowly, and eventually they were all able to do it passably. However, as he had said before, only a few of them actually understood how to do it without him directing them from the sidelines.

He was sure Davi had just been comforting him when he talked about his beginners class. After all, he was a licensed instructor who actually _knew_ how to teach people, and Yuuri was just here because he knew enough about breaking to show a few clueless kids how to do a six step. Clearly, anything beyond that was impossible for him.

He contemplated quitting, but he knew he needed all the cash he could earn if he wanted to stay in Detroit for the summer. Plus, his parents already supported his figure skating so much; this job was the least he could do to lighten some of the burden.

He was interrupted from his downward spiral of self-deprecation by the call of his stop. Shaking the cobwebs away, he stood up and got off the bus quickly. He hurried towards his shared dorm with Phichit, walking across the campus and up the stairs of his building quickly.

After Yuuri unlocked his door, he quickly shed his sweaty clothes and took a short shower. He had to hurry if wanted to make it in time for his class.

He finished getting ready with five minutes to spare. Once again, he found himself walking briskly across the campus, thoughts of his mistakes at his job discarded in favor of figuring out the fastest route to his class. His messenger bag banged against his legs as he walked though the campus briskly, wondering whether it would be worth it to grab a cup of coffee. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!
> 
> TERMS  
> breakbeat: bboy music, heavy on the percussion above all else

i.

Two days after the disastrous beginners class, Yuuri's boss called him into her office after his one other beginners class (thankfully still stuck on toprock). Even relayed through Davi's friendly face, the message seemed to be a sure marker that he had screwed up the power moves class. He stuffed his towel into the bag, warring between delaying the punishment and hurrying to lighten the sentence. Feeling his shoulders hunching up to his ears, he tossed a fake smile and a thank you over his shoulder. 

As Davi's footsteps faded away, Yuuri tried to push away the dread creeping up his back. Shay wouldn't fire him for one class, would she? As he walked out of the studio, his thoughts turned down darker paths. Maybe he had been stacking up tallies for a while now and this was the final marker of his failure, so she would have no choice but to let him go for the good of the studio, which he couldn't  _blame_ her for, but he liked this job well enough and he didn't want to get fired and  _oh god._

His feet glued themselves to the floor in front of her door, cheap, stained wood that had somehow grown eight feet taller and as imposing as the gates of a fortified city.  _You're not going to get fired_ , he told himself, not believing a word of it.  _She just wants to talk..._ what if she needed to tell him that Davi wanted his classes back?

Whatever it was that she needed to tell him, it wasn't going to be anything good. He could either stand outside like an idiot and wait for an incoming student to catch him, or he could rip the band-aid off and get this whole thing over with. If he was going to get fired, he needed the chance to plead his case and beg to keep the job. Resolution found in spite of his anxiety, Yuuri pushed the door open, bracing himself for a apologetic but firm opening. 

"Yuuri? I was wondering what was taking you so long. Davi took the scenic route, huh?" Shay joked. Yuuri laughed nervously, some of his fear melting away in the face of such a boisterous greeting. She wouldn't open with a joke if she was going to fire him. 

"That's my fault," he admitted, settling into the chair in front of her desk . "I, uh, had to use the bathroom."

She nodded, probably understanding some inside joke about teaching kids that he didn't know he was making. "Of course, of course. Anyways, I called you in here because I need to add a class to your schedule." The Japanese man wrinkled his brow in confusion, but Shay raised her hand in a calming motion. "I know that it's weird to add a class this late into your schedule, but this is kind of a special case." 

"What do you mean?" he asked, worries forgotten. The tense line of his shoulders loosened as he leaned forward ever so slightly in his chair.

"Hang on, let me pull up his email..." She turned to her computer and typed a few things, squinting at its bright screen. "Okay, here we are. 

"There's this Russian guy who wants to come to Detroit and get private lessons-- like a crash course?-- for hip-hop dancing. He says he's an ice skater who, um, needs it for his routine? I don't know how he's pulling  _that_ one off, but whatever. His name's..." She squints further at the screen. "God, I probably won't pronounce this right. His name's, uh... Viktor-" Her tongue catches on his last name several time, mangling it beyond understanding. "Oh, screw this. Here, you can read it." She forcefully turns the laptop around so he can read the type, and he leans even further forwards. 

It takes a second to focus, a second to read it, and a second to reread it a few times more, just to be sure. 

_Viktor Nikiforov._

"Man, you got that right away. Guess I'm just not good with those sorts of names, huh?" He didn't know he'd said that out loud.

"N-no, it's just- he's the-" he sputtered, before finally managing to blurt out, " _Shay, oh my god."_ His eyes were fixed to those two words displayed on the screen, so he didn't see Shay frown, but he did feel her hand gripping his shoulder. 

"Yuuri, you okay? This guy mess with you or something?"

"No! He's just!" He couldn't finish the sentence, but he tried to articulate his point by waving his hands around wildly. Jerking back to avoid being hit by one of his erratic limbs, Shay settled back into her chair. 

"Well, what is it?" she asked impatiently. She softened a bit, adding, "We can ask him to find another school if you want, but if I'm honest, I really don't want to."

Yuuri took a deep breath and held it for a moment to gather his bearings. "Okay. Okay. So, you know how I'm at college on a figure skating scholarship?" She nodded hesitantly, clearly recalling no such thing. "Well, Viktor Nikiforov... He's the best men's single's figure skater alive right now."

Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. "The best? Really?"

Seeking to assuage her skepticism, he hastily explained, "He's been winning gold medals since he started skating competitively. In the last _five_ _years_ , he's won gold at all of his international competitions. In the last _three_ years, he's won gold at all of his qualifying  _and_ international competitions. He's the best men's singles skater right now-- maybe even of all time." As he finished his spiel, his eyes had gained a slightly feverish light.

"So he's like a figure skating celebrity," Shay concluded dryly. 

Yuuri sighed a bit and nodded. "That's the basics of it, yes."

"Just to be clear, this means you won't have any problems with teaching him, correct? We're in the clear?" Shay prodded. 

"No, no problem," Yuuri affirmed absently. Then he processed what that question entailed. "Wait,  _me?!_ Teaching _Viktor?_ "

"Yes?" Shay said, quirking an eyebrow and drawing out the last consonant. "You're the beginners teacher. Furthermore, you're an ice skater too, which makes you automatically more qualified to teach him anyways." 

"But I'm barely qualified to teach the beginners class in the first place!" he protested. "I-I couldn't possibly have the ability to teach Viktor breaking!"

Her eyes widened in realization before a sly smile spread across her face. She leaned back in her chair, looking like a cat that got the cream. "I get it now. You're a  _fanboy_."

A furious blush settled on Yuuri's face and colored the tips of his ears. He didn't need to confirm it for her, that much was clear; her conclusion backed itself up. Searching for a change in topic, he blurted, "Davi is more experienced than I am! If these are private lessons, shouldn't he teach them?"

She frowned, playfulness draining from her body. "Davi cut the beginners class from his roster because he needed the time to focus on his degree. I'm not gonna force him to come back and draw up lessons just for one guy." Yuuri wilted under her rebuke, knowing that he should put aside whatever his feelings were on the matter and teach the class. "Yuuri, man, you know I don't like forcing people to do things, but I'm gonna have to put my foot down on this one. Unless you have any real reasons why you can't teach him, you're taking the class," Shay finished firmly. 

"No, I... Sorry. I can take the class," Yuuri said, shamefaced. He couldn't make Davi come back to teach one class without explaining his selfish dream. It burned to have his dream of skating with Viktor at the same level so forcefully taken out of his hands like that, but he couldn't demand that Davi sacrifice his education just so he could fulfill some childish whim. 

"Thanks," she replied simply, frown disappearing. "Alright, let me give you the details." Handing him a paper printout of a calendar with the highlighted days, she continued, "I realize that this is a bit sudden, but he didn't exactly give a lot of notice. In return, you'll be paid an increased salary for the private classes. Your normal classes will have your usual pay, though. 

"Viktor wants classes three times a week for four weeks, but he mentioned that he might need consultation outside of class hours. He'll pay you a good bonus for those hours, though you of course have the right to refuse the consultations. In that case, Davi or I will try to help him."

"He wants to start  _next week_?" Yuuri asked, incredulous. He continued studying the calendar, muttering to himself. "Classes on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday for three hours..." He did his best to separate his thoughts on teaching  _Viktor Nikiforov_ breaking and his thoughts on his own schedule, which thankfully allowed for the lengthy classes. Now that he was thinking somewhat pragmatically, the more he realized that he really couldn't turn down this opportunity. 

He had traveled all over the world for ice skating for a week at a time, and there were only so many classes he could get credit for when he missed so much time. He had to take an extra semester to finish up a few classes before he could claim his degree. His family had been so supportive of both his education and his skating, but even he knew that this put more than a little strain on their finances. 

Yuuri had gotten the best paying job he could find to alleviate some of that burden, but there was only so much his paycheck could do. This was a golden opportunity to boost his finances.

"-Yuuri? This work with your schedule?" his boss added worriedly, clearly repeating the question for his benefit. 

He shook himself out of his daze and looked up at her, clutching the paper tight with his sweating palms. "Sorry, I zoned out for a bit. Yes, it works."

"Perfect. Now I just need you to sign some paperwork..."

Yuuri passed the rest of the meeting in a daze, skimming the documents without fully understanding what he was signing. His temporary compartmentalization had faded away, overtaken by the fact that he had just agreed to teach the greatest men's figure skater in the world  _breaking_.

The idea of  _Viktor_ _Nikiforov_ and  _breaking_ mixed like oil and water in his mind; while some figure skaters had delved into less classical styles for their programs, Viktor had always favored the tried and true styles, like ballroom or Latin. The closest he had ever come to something approaching hip-hop was the year he had chosen a song for his free skate that incorporated hints of jazz influence. Yuuri tried to imagine him performing to a breakbeat and failed miserably. It was difficult to think of the Russian skater, renown for his beautiful and flowing movements, moving succinctly enough to hit the beat, even during his step sequence.

It was difficult to imagine Yuuri _himself_ doing a routine to a breakbeat, but he could picture certain elements well enough. They weren't something he would break out in an actual competition, but his toprock was good enough that he could imagine using some of his moves to emphasize certain parts of the song. Maybe one day, if he ever got a program with a good beat, but with his current style, he couldn't see it happening anytime soon.

Phichit, on the other hand...

ii.

Yakov didn't approve of Viktor's decision to fly to America to learn hip-hop dancing. His coach's disapproval had barely stung in the face of setting up one of the biggest surprises of his career. Plus, at this point, Yakov was perpetually disappointed in him; for his rebellious tendencies, flightiness, choice of motivation, etc. However, as long as Viktor kept winning medals, he couldn't complain too much. 

So, one week after telling Yakov, Viktor had his grudging non-denial, a ticket to Detroit, an apartment near an ice rink, and a private class on breakdancing. 

Though Yakov hadn't forbidden him from his current plans, he had done his best to persuade him to stay in Russia and learn hip-hop at a local school. Furthermore, to learn something else other than breakdancing. Viktor had been insistent, though. Breakdancing was one of the fundamental dance styles of hip-hop, and it was created in America. Any Russian hip-hop classes would be watered down and unfaithful to the original style. 

Plus, it would only be for a month. Viktor would be back in Russia in time for Yakov to fuss, nitpick, and fine tune whatever routine he created in America. Then he could present one of the most astounding routines of his career, proving to them that his little fluke last season was most definitely not a sign that he was losing his touch. 

This season, he would show them all that Viktor Nikiforov would always surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:  
> Viktor, like any other newbie, refers to it as breakdancing. Probably the only reason I'll ever refer to it like that. It's the same reason Shay calls figure skating just 'ice skating'; unfamiliarity with the sport. He's also waaaay too focused on its aggressive aspects. While it's true that breaking (and hip-hop in general) is a more aggressive style than other types of dance, it's also a style that requires a lot of precision, strength, and practice. He'll see that in time, but I figured I should clear that up before we get too far into the story. 
> 
> P.S. I have a [tumblr](yoshi-in-the-club.tumblr.com) if you wanna see more of my stuff... jsyk


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Also, this chapter is almost entirely Phichit. I would apologize, but everyone needs some more Phichit in their lives. Promise I'll get to the fateful meeting next chapter.
> 
> Again, this chapter is unbetaed, so bear with me.

i.

Breaking hadn't come naturally to Yuuri; in fact, it hadn't even been his idea. Celestino had taken him aside a few weeks after a disastrous performance and suggested it to him as a way to build up his confidence and increase his style repertoire. He had helpfully provided a list of studios with a low rate and good staff, but Yuuri had been leery of the vast chasm between his preferred style and breaking. Ballet and hip-hop couldn't have been further away from each other.

Somehow, Phichit had found out, and he had offered to take the class with Yuuri to assuage any anxieties he might have had about learning in a room full of strangers. _And messing up_ went unsaid. A lot had been said in the past two years so that it could go unsaid. "Plus," he had added, winking, "now you'll owe me a big favor!" He drew out the "i" as he threw his arms around Yuuri. "Now, which school were you thinking?"

Phichit's support had allowed him to break through that barrier, and Yuuri knew it. He hated to burden his friend with his problems again, but this was kind of _a big deal._

That was why they were sitting inside a quiet cafe after their shared rink time. He clenched his coffee cup hard enough to dent it, then carefully, deliberately detached his fingers from the cardboard and placed his hands in his lap. Phichit scrutinized him over his oolong tea and slowly raised a single eyebrow. "So..." he began, "what is this major problem that's had you so bent out of shape for the past two days?" Yuuri blanched; he thought he'd been less overt than that.

Logically, he shouldn't be so hesitant in answering the question. It wasn't a _bad_ thing so much as a _terrifying_ thing, but what if Phichit thought he was stupid for being afraid of what would happen? (Except that he wouldn't. Would he?) His friend probably had bigger problems going on, and this probably wasn't as big of a deal compared to what he was going through. College stressed Phichit out enough with Yuuri's unfounded anxiety.

The Thai skater, who had been waiting patiently during his downward spiral, kicked him under the table once he could see the telltale twitch that meant he wouldn't tell him. "Remember it's my choice whether or not I care," Phichit reprimanded.

Yuuri startled, then relaxed. "Right. Sorry." He took a nervous sip of his drink, set it down. Fiddled with the lid. Stared at the table to the left of Phichit.

"Oh!" Phichit realized. "The questions thing! Will that help?" He nodded, embarrassed with his incompetence. His friend hummed, thinking of ways to phrase it. "Is it... skating related?" He shook his head. "College?" Another shake. "Work?" Yuuri nodded. "Okay, your turn! What happened at work?"

"I was finishing up my class when Davi came in..." Yuuri told the whole story, including his confusion about including breaking and figure skating.

"Yuuri, that's amazing!" he exclaimed, wide eyes shining. He hushed himself quickly after a chastising look from another patron. "That's _amazing_!" he repeated, quieter, then picking up steam again. "You get a chance to not only _meet_ Viktor, but to _teach_ him! For a whole _month_!"

"I get to teach him _breaking_ , Phichit, which I _barely know._ "

"You teach breaking. At a professional hip-hop studio," he pointed out.

"To _children_!" Yuuri shot back, too loud. He cringed at the patron's sharp look.

Phichit scoffed. "They probably know more about breaking than he does. Teaching him will be basically the same thing as teaching a coordinated ten year old."

"But he's using breaking to develop his new routine! How do I teach breaking relevant to figure skating when I don't even see the connection?"

"I still don't know how he's supposed to do that," Phichit frowned. "But hey, if anyone can do it, it's him."

"Right?" Yuuri agreed enthusiastically.

"And," he continued, a gleam in his eye, "if anyone can _help_ him do it, it's _you_."

"Nope--"

"Yes--"

"Totally incorrect--"

"Except that I am always right--"

"False. There was that time with the mall Santa--"

" _That was one time!_ " Phichit pouted. Yuuri maintained his aloof stare until he couldn't, and they both broke out into laughter.

As the last of the Japanese man's chuckles were dying away, he found his friend eyeing him seriously. "Yuuri, you can do this. You are entirely qualified to teach beginning to intermediate breaking to a Russian figure skater who probably thinks that downrock is the only component of breaking. It's only for a month, and it he turns out to be a jackass, I'll beat him up."

"Don't beat him up, Phichit."

"I will absolutely shove his balls up his throat if he's mean to you," Phichit promised solemnly. "With the combined power of my love for you and my amazing eyebrows, I will kick. His. Ass."

"He's like half a foot taller than you."

"Yeah, but his brows are half the size of mine. Clearly, I would win."

"Clearly."

"Obviously."

They grinned at each other over their now lukewarm beverages. 

Yuuri sobered and miserably traced the rim of the lid with his thumb. "But seriously, Phichit, how am I supposed to do this? I know I'm going to start stuttering and tripping over myself as soon as he arrives. How is he supposed to learn from such an incompetent teacher?"

Phichit pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Usually, when I froze up around my crushes, I would imagine them eating flat noodles with a spoon." Seeing his friend's dubious look, he hastily added, "I know it sounds really weird! But _no one_ can do that and still look cool! It's impossible!"

"...I don't think that will work for me."

"If it had been anything but a professional setting, I would've just told you to just flirt with him until he dropped his pants." He ignored Yuuri's scandalized glare. "But if Viktor complains because you two get in a tiff, you could lose your job," Phichit sighed, frowning. "And I know how much you need this job."

They sat in silence. Yuuri chanced a taste of his coffee and made a face, which made his friend chuckle. "Nice to know you enjoy my misery," the Japanese man muttered. Phichit winked. "Hey!"

"In all seriousness, you have the skills to do this. You have the lesson plan. You just need the courage!" Phichit paused for dramatic effect. "And I know just where to get it!"

"Where?" Yuuri asked wearily.

"Ciao Ciao, of course!"

"Celestino?"

"Yes, now come with me! He should still be at the rink, making notes on our routines!"

Yuuri's wary question of how, exactly, Phichit knew that went unanswered, and together they set back out to the Roosevelt Park Rink.

Thirty minutes later, Celestino solemnly declared, "I don't know if I approve of you teaching Viktor Nikiforov." Phichit and Yuuri blinked.

"Ciao Ciao, you don't approve?" Phichit asked in disbelief. "But this is Yuuri's idol! It's a once in a lifetime opportunity!"

"Furthermore, I've already signed the papers," Yuuri added. "I don't think I can refuse at this point."

"You didn't think to ask me first?" the coach asked in disbelief. "Yuuri, I allowed you to take this job because you promised it wouldn't interfere with your skating, but you can't just sign a contract to help a rival skater!"

"We're hardly rivals," Yuuri murmured timidly. He averted his eyes to the skating rink, where a few of the other college skaters were warming up. It had taken longer than they had anticipated to tell the whole story to Celestino, and it was nearing the coach's next skate time.

"Hardly? Yuuri, you were two points away from competing against him on an international stage! Of course he's a rival!" Celestino protested. Then he glanced at his watch. Cursing under his breath, he grasped Yuuri's shoulder and said, "I know you'll doubt yourself no matter what. No matter how many times I tell you that you're his equal, that you have nothing to be afraid of in him, you won't believe me. So let me put it into perspective: you know more him about this. You are _better_ than him at this. Even if he skate four quads, he can't... ah... spin on his head, or 'windmill'."

Yuuri blushed bright red. "Y-yes, Coach!" He couldn't help the warm feeling welling up inside of him; even though Celestinio knew next to nothing about breaking, he had such confidence in Yuuri.

Even if it was undeserved, it felt nice.

ii.

Viktor cuddled Makkachin on the couch, studiously ignoring the piles of boxes around his apartment. Right now, the only pieces of furniture set up were his bed, the kitchen table, and the couch he was lying on. He knew he should probably get up and unpack his linens at the very least, but he was worn out after speaking in English with the movers for such a long time. It made his head hurt. Plus, the new currency and the ridiculous systems of measurement were _hard_ to navigate. _Thank God it's only for a month._

Then again, an _entire month_. He groaned into his poodle's fur and snuggled him tighter. Whining, the dog pawed at his owner's rumpled shirt and struggled to get loose. Viktor gasped.

"Oh, Makkachin, I'm so sorry! Here, I'll get your food unpacked." With that, he bustled around the apartment and searched for his pet's boxes, helpfully labeled with little doodles of a poodle face. He quickly set up Makkachin's bowls, relieved that the water was already on. With that settled, he looked at the boxes with new vigor. "I guess that was a sign." He faked a pout before rolling up his sleeves and getting to work.

Six boxes through, he stopped to wipe the sweat off his brow and realized that the sun was setting. "Stupid time zones," he muttered. He had missed dinner time, and he couldn't cook anything until he found the box with the pans in them. He supposed that he needed to find a restaurant of some sort. But first, he should probably call the dance studio to make sure everything was finalized.

They picked up on the third ring. "Hello, this is Novus Dance. How can I help you?" a woman's voice said.

"Hi, this is Viktor Nikiforov. I am calling to make sure that my private lessons are finalized."

"Oh! Mr. Nikiforov. Yes, your lessons are finalized for..." He could hear the faint sound of typing. "Three hours three days a week, beginning in two days. Your instructor will be Yuuri Katsuki."

"Yuuri Katsuki?" This was new. They hadn't told him who would be teaching him.

His surprise was interpreted as suspicious. "I assure you, he's highly qualified to teach you. We oversaw his breaking ourselves. Plus, he's experienced with figure skating, which makes him well suited to your needs."

"That sounds perfect. Thank you for your time," he replied absently, processing the new information.

If his instructor was a figure skater, that meant he already knew who he was, which could be a problem. He didn't want anyone to find out what he was planning to do because of an errant tweet. It needed to be a complete shock.

On the other hand, that meant that he had someone who knew both sports well enough to give him some advice about melding the two. Viktor will just have to ask him to keep the sessions completely secret, if not with good will then with forms and money. He hoped it was the former; this trip wasn't exactly cheap.

He briefly wondered what his teacher would be like. Then his stomach growled loudly, and it was forgotten as he searched for a restaurant nearby.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Life's been pretty hectic lately. I should be able to post more once school ends!

Together, Yuuri and Phichit had devised a plan to deal with Viktor. Even so, Yuuri could feel his heart pounding, and he wiped his clammy palms against his sweatpants to distract himself. He had arrived thirty minutes early to try to get in the zone and distance himself from the identity of... his student, but instead, he could feel the anticipation and anxiety building in his stomach until he felt like he was going to throw up. He started cycling through warm-ups just to focus on something else, but he hear the seconds ticking by. Just as he was about to turn on the music to overpower the sound of its incessant ticking, he heard footsteps in the hall.

He felt his breathing pick up, and he forced himself to calm down. He had to remember what he was here for, remember that he wasn't allowed to freak out, and remember that his anxiety could go fuck itself. Warm-ups abandoned, he stood in the middle of the room, focus split of the footsteps, the clock, and his own panicked breathing.

Blood pushed and tugged its way through his heart, and he couldn't believe he had never noticed how dirty his floor was, and the mirror was so smudged that he could barely make out his face, and the sound system was so finicky—what if it cut out mid-song? What if Viktor Nikiforov took one look at him and laughed? What if he refused t-

Someone knocked on the door. All of Yuuri froze; his thoughts, his heart, his lungs. Another knock. Abruptly, he began moving as if commanded by strings. His feet rose and fell and his hands grasped the doorknob, all without his input. The doorknob turned, the door opened, and there stood Viktor Nikiforov.

He tried to fix a smile to his face, but it was hard when the face that decorated his childhood bedroom was giving him a dazzling smile bright enough to rival the sun. Its similarity to his posters only made the dissonance worse, as it didn't disguise the light shadows under Viktor's eyes, nor the stray hairs surrounding his eyebrows.

_Eyebrows._

Suddenly, all he could think about was his and Phichit's conversation, and the absurd hilarity of it all finally eased his awkward looking smile. It was at that moment that Yuuri realized he should probably let him into the studio.

"S-sorry, um, Viktor? Here, come in," Yuuri stuttered as he opened the door wider, cursing his anxiety and English and this _entire situation_. "I'm Yuuri Katsuki, your instructor for um, for breaking." Again with the stutter, god damn it. How was he supposed to teach him when he couldn't even speak?

"Viktor Nikiforov, though I suppose you already knew that," Viktor replied graciously, still smiling. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Yuuri!" Cursing the blush that rose on his cheeks as his first name left the Russian man's lips (just... a little short on the 'u', but that was fine), he tried to remember the plan that he and Phichit had cooked up. _Keep it together, Katsuki._

"Right. Okay." Yuuri then mercilessly compartmentalized every single emotion he was experiencing at the moment in a show of true professionalism worthy of a raise, and went to the next checkpoint. "Since this is kind of an unusual situation, I wanted to go over a few things with you."

"Of course, of course. I want to make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible!" Viktor was still smiling, but now it kind of seemed like a threat. At least, Yuuri felt threatened, but also, embarrassingly, still pretty attracted. He supposed he should've expected that from himself; Phichit probably had.

He cleared his throat, hoped his face resembled less of a tomato. "Alright, well. That's what these questions are for, Mr. Nikiforov." Too aggressive? Oh well, too late now. "I've been told that you have previous experience with learning other dance styles very quickly. Please tell me which styles, how long, and what level of mastery you achieved."

Viktor tilted his head, silver hair falling out of face. It hit Yuuri, once again, that his idol was standing in front of him, in the flesh, under his tutelage. The exercise clothes somehow made him look more devastating than his more, how do you put it, _risque_ costumes. "Salsa, three months, novice intermediate. Swing, a month and a half, novice beginners." An odd half smile added a touch of levity to his thoughtful expression. "Kalinka, five months, barely intermediate."

Yuuri blinked. He would ask what the last one was, but he didn't really need to know. "So you aren't aiming for mastery."

"No. Usually, I learn the bare basic steps, then I ask for leading questions for types of moves that I can imagine in my routine. This is why I am so lucky that you are also a figure skater!" Viktor exclaimed.

The Japanese man nodded and made eye contact with the spot between Viktor's eyes, unsure of how to respond. "I'll, uh, do the best I can. ...Okay, second question. Any injuries or weaknesses in your joints, particularly on your upper body?" Those took a lot of abuse during breaking, and the last thing he wanted to do was snap Viktor Nikiforov's wrist right before the season started.

A concern that was apparently none of his business, judging by the way his smile froze. "Hmm... very forward, aren't you? That should've been in my file. Unless, of course, you didn't read it."

"All that was listed there was a past injury in your right ankle three years ago," Yuuri replied hastily, his hackles rising. "I need to know if you have any _weaknesses_. Joints suffer a lot in breaking, and if they aren't up to snuff, they can snap like twigs." That was exaggerating, a little, but Viktor clearly needed the push.

The older man's mouth thinned into a harsh line as he settled back onto his heels to look him up and down. "Fine. My wrists and ankles are a little weak, especially on the right side. My knees, too."

"Great, thanks," Yuuri murmured tersely, smarting from his clipped tones. Viktor had always seemed so flawless from a distance, but he guessed that even he had some sensitive areas that made him an asshole. Then he shook his head. This was no way to make a first impression on a man he'd be spending nine hours a week with, especially one who could skate circles around him. He sighed and pushed down his irritation, shifting his weight to his left side. "We'll need to strengthen those before we start on downrock, just a warning. One more question."

"Go ahead."

"Which skating rink will you be using? We'll need to figure out what schedule they're on and what days we can use it to choreograph..." he faltered a little, the very words exiting his mouth feeling like sacrilege, "choreograph your routine."

Viktor waved a hand dismissively. "I've taken care of that, don't worry. I'll just let you know when we're using it." Yuuri twitched a little, recalling his own crowded schedule. _Let me know..._ _it would be nice if he didn't make it sound like I'm supposed to schedule everything around him._

"Perfect," he replied, pasting an unconvincing smile on his face. "Thanks for taking care of that. Were there any questions or concerns that you have about this before we get started?"

"Yes, actually! Just one. What is your policy on disclosing student information?"

Yuuri supposed he should have expected that, but he was still unprepared fro the question. As far as he knew, they didn't have one beyond the basics. "We don't disclose students' names or classes to anyone not listed as a contact in your file." Judging by Viktor's expression, that wasn't quite enough. "If you want something more detailed, you can talk to my boss. We can talk about what you don't want me to talk about until that point, if you want?" he hastily added the last part when Viktor's smile started to fade into a frown. "But only after the lesson. We need to get started."

The Russian man still looked somewhat displeased, but he obediently shut his mouth as Yuuri began setting up the space they needed for the lesson. He could feel Viktor watching him, and he tried to force his hands to stop sweating and focus on the task. 

He had sketched out a basic lesson plan, but it would be an entirely different dynamic teaching one person as opposed to a class of around ten people. More intimate, less relaxed, tailored directly to one student. He shivered. The thought felt less exciting and more like a bigger opportunity for Viktor to see what a fraud he was. 

Finally, he could delay it no longer, and he turned to Viktor, who gazed at him expectantly. He cleared his throat, wishing he had put the music on so the ticking of the clock wasn't so damn  _loud_. 

"How much do you know about breaking?" Yuuri asked, just as he and Phichit had planned.  _Step 1: Learn his background knowledge._

"Breakdancing," Yuuri winced, but Viktor continued on, "is an American hip-hop dance style that involves moves performed both horizontally and vertically, usually against some sort of opponent. The best moves usually involve some sort of gymnastics and a high degree of fluid transition. Alternatively, holding a pose for a set amount of time. The music is usually percussion-centric, and high value is placed on hitting the beats."

It sounded like he knew what it looked like, at least, even if he didn't know any terminology whatsoever. He'd worked with worse. "Alright. There's a little more background you need to get started, although I suspect you knew that already." He took a deep breath and mentally ran through the list of basic terms. 

"First, this style is called breaking or bboying.  _Not_ breakdancing. That's the, um..." He tried to find the English word for it, and settled on one after it became apparent that he wouldn't find it. "That's the ignorant word for it. It's not the right term, anyways, and bboys don't like it. That's people who break," he added, wincing. "Second... or third, I guess? Um, there are three types of moves in breaking: toprock, downrock, and power moves. Toprock is whatever is performed while upright. It's a lot of footwork, like with traditional styles. Downrock is what you do while you're on the floor, and it can involve any part of your body, really. That's also where you can perform freezes, which is the move where you hold a position for a few seconds. Power moves, which we probably won't get into, are moves which can involve a lot of damage to your body, but look very impressive."

Viktor's eyes were unfocused and showed no real signs of comprehension. Oops. Not an auditory learner, then. "Would it be better if I showed you?" Yuuri asked. 

"Yes," he responded almost immediately. "If you please."

Yuuri did a few gentle, basic steps of each type, and it was almost terrifying the amount of focus that Viktor put into studying them. Then he arranged them into a slow, easy routine, so he could see what they looked like in real time and connect them with whatever he had seen before the class.

"So, how are you going to teach me all of this, Yuuri?" Again with the  _name_.

Valiantly ignoring whatever feelings had stirred in his stomach, Yuuri told him, "Today, you're going to learn some toprock. Specifically, the Indian step and the sidekick step, and some variations. That should take the about the entire lesson, and we might not even have to get through it all, depending on how much focus you want on some steps. You're going to start standing up straight with your arms by your sides..." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few of you were wondering what bboy!Yuuri looked like.... well boy do [i have a gift for you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=610gyhMG9Us) (yuuri is the woman on the left side). I think Yuuri mostly focuses on toprock because he has a hefty background in dance and there's less risk of injury, so his downrock naturally a little weaker and maybe not competition level. He doesn't have a huge range of moves, but he's alright at what he knows. And because most people only post their best routines, I don't have a video for that ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Until next time!


End file.
